The first pirate had the misfortune to land inside one of the spells I’d cast on an unused portion of the deck, and now he could not move his feet any further, struggle and curse though he did. I would tend to him later.
One of the other two pirates rushed toward the pilothouse, where he ran smack into a glyph I’d inscribed there. He sank to his knees, a goofy expression on his face. The pilot calmly leaned out and hit him on the back of the head to render him unconscious before he went back to steering.
The last pirate darted right toward me, brandishing his knife and shouting for me to surrender.
“No,” I said. “I’m on my honeymoon.”
“Heave to, or I’ll cut your godsdamned throat!” he screamed belligerently. He waved his knife wide, a threatening and intimidating move that left his half-bare chest completely exposed under his mantle.
I shoved a willow wand in it and he crumpled to the deck, pissing himself.
Just as I was about to relax, two more ugly bandits scrambled over the port side, one with a rusty old short sword and the other with a hooked spear. The two punts behind us were gaining a bit, so these must have come from the other side of the river. As I turned to face them I heard the twang of bowstrings, and a few arrows landed on the deck.
I dealt with the boarders first. As I grabbed the spear behind the rusty head with my left hand and tickled the wielder's chin with a Guthammer. When he wasn’t using the spear anymore, I used the haft to push the other man over the side after crushing his fingers with it. Then I turned to deal with the archers from the shoreline.
These weren’t colorfully fletched warning shafts, anymore I saw as I crossed the deck, these were ugly, lethal-looking war arrows, steel tipped and meant for business. An iron bolt from an arbalest was next, protruding from the freshly-painted pilothouse in a way I knew Pentandra would not be pleased with.
From the pattern of fire I figured that there were around three or four shooters sniping from the underbrush. I had hung the perfect spell for the occasion: with a wave of my hand and the murmur of an arcane word, their senses of direction and balance were suddenly corrupted. The next few shafts flew wildly overhead or careened in unlikely directions. I didn’t have to worry about snipers for a while.
That left the boats pursuing us. I figured they would leave off, once they saw their fellows had not taken the barge, but they were persistent. They had bows, too, and longer swords and likely other weapons. Four at one time was a little more than I wanted to contend with, however, so I decided to re-task one of the water elementals pushing the barge to give them some attention. I figured that it was already there, so I might as well use it.
I reached out through the sphere to revisit the spell that kept the mindless personification of liquidity a cohesive entity . . . and I stopped.
I was going to use the standard Imperial spell to carefully redirect the thing, but as I was contacting it, a portion of the sphere beckoned to me. A portion of the Alka Alon bank of spellwork that had been included when my sphere had been made. The portion that Ithalia had warned me against using.
I could see her point, in most ways - there was so much that I did not understand about Alka Alon magic. Most of that mysterious library of spellsongs was pregnant with potential disaster. But the arcane templates used in Imperial magic for energizing elementals were based directly on those of the Alka Alon . . . so what was the harm?
I yielded to temptation. I reached out and brought the songspell alive - much different, I saw, than simply using magic. The song went forth unsung by my lips, but the effect was impressive. The sluggish and dull elemental I’d conjured was suddenly as attentive and responsive as a loyal hound.
“Sic ‘em,” I whispered, as I indicated the nature of my desire. The magically-coherent part of the river dove away, and in moments both punts were overturned and destroyed by the wildly contorting waves. The men screamed and tried to swim away. Not all of them made it.
I was fascinated by this new aspect of elemental magic. The Alkan songspell had improved the responsiveness of the thing immeasurably. I delighted as I explored its capabilities, using my magical link to command it to perform several tricks from the stern. I bashed the wreckage of the punts into splinters, had the elemental jump and cavort like a seamonster, and then races against the banks until they were flooded.
So preoccupied was I with the novel magic, I didn’t notice the man I’d pushed over the side return to the barge. Nor did I notice him clubbing the mate unconscious before he could raise the alarm. I was not wakened from my spell until I heard Alya shriek:
“You take one more godsdamn step and I’ll gut you like a sick heifer!”
That got my attention.
I whirled, leaving my elemental to its own devices. There was a wet pirate standing in front of the hatch, the mate lying sprawled at his feet. His hands were held wide apart, my beloved wife’s new dagger was hovering dangerously close to his groin. Behind her, I saw when I rushed to assist, were the cook, armed with her kitchen knife, and Palia holding an iron fire poker.
“I’d listen to the lady,” I said, calmly, when I saw in his eye that he was considering pressing the attack. “She’s a bit . . . moody at this stage in her pregnancy. Makes her impulsive.” Something in Alya’s eyes must have been convincing as her shiny new dagger hovered dangerously close to his family jewels. He dropped his knife.
Orduin, the mate was, thankfully, only stunned, and a bit of rest and a sip of liquor brought his color back soon enough. I gave him a quick scan to ensure that he didn’t have a concussion. I spent the next half-hour binding the prisoners on the deck, ensuring magically that they would not get free. I also redirected the improved water elemental to drive us even faster upriver. I had six ugly guests I wanted to get rid of, and I didn’t have the heart to just throw them over and let them drown. Not on my honeymoon.
But that did give me other problems, I realized. What to do with them when I got there? And how to explain how so few captured so many was itself problematic. I was supposed to be traveling incognito, after all. Advertising what a great godsdamned warmage I was probably would work counter to that.
I rummaged around in Penny’s hamper and found a small, evil-looking bottle of black glass. The liquor inside was dark and pungent and strong - a hundred proof, at least. I handed the flask to the pirate who surrendered, and demanded he toast my bride, then pass the bottle to his mates.
He sniffed it suspiciously, and I had to take a sip of the vile stuff to demonstrate it wasn’t poison – just awful. Apparently they didn’t share my tastes. Getting captured was wearing on their spirits, and so was sitting around tied up in piss-soaked pants. They were only too happy to drink to Alya’s health when invited. An hour later I returned with another bottle, and had them drink to the health of my son.
With the added help of the extra elemental, we pulled into the sparse docks of Gilasfar an hour before dusk. The dockmaster was surprised at a ship coming in so quickly, so late in the day and off the season, so he was on the deck as soon as we tied off.
“Well, what is all this, then?” he asked, puzzled, when he saw the drunken pirates tied up on the deck.
“What, them?” I asked, scornfully. “Bunch of drunken bandits tried to board us downriver. The pilot and the mate made short work of them, thank goodness. They were raving mad when they came over the side. Talking about all sorts of strangeness - the river was chasing them, that sort of thing. Put down the mate, but the rest were like . . . well, like a bunch of drunks,” I sighed.
He sniffed them suspiciously, and one of the guthammered ones moaned drunkenly.
“Luin’s staff, this is the bloody Redwater gang,” he chuckled, toothlessly. “They have a camp at the Redwater Oxbow. Every time my lord sends the reeve for them, they disappear into the wilderness or the river. Folks were starting to think they were unnatural. Took five good barges last year,” he said, shaking his head. “Killed six men. Bunch of ruffians, you ask me. The gods and thei
r intemperance finally caught up with them! It’ll be the gibbet for sure,” he chuckled evilly.
“I’m sure they would have been quite bloodthirsty, had they not been raving,” I agreed, as Palia helped the wounded mate upstairs from the cabin where Alya had been nursing him. Apart from a small laceration I’d bound together and enchanted against infection, he would be fine. He’d have a scar, but the young man would be no worse for wear.
He kicked one of the prisoners lazily with his boot, earning a groan. “Spend the night in the gaol, you will, lads. And I’ll send to the manor with news.” He eyed me, suddenly. “You did want the bounty on their capture, didn’t you?”
“How much?” I asked, startled. I hadn’t considered there might be a reward.
“Ten piggies per,” the dockmaster said, nodding his head sagely. I was a bit startled at that, too – ten hogs per prisoner seemed extreme.
But then I remembered that in this part of the Riverlands one of the standard coins with allegedly a half-ounce of silver were minted a century ago by a Riverlands count (one of the Darmines, if I recalled correctly) and featured a fierce rendering of his arms on the obverse. After a generation most of the detail had worn away from constant use, leaving only the shape of a fat pig – a ‘piggy shilling’ or “piggy” for short. So each of these men’s heads were worth five ounces of silver. That was impressive.
“I can pay out . . . seven? Eight? Call it seven, right now,” he promised, “but I’ll have to send to the manor for the balance. Will you be docking for the evening?” he asked, clearly hoping we were in a hurry so that he could pocket the difference.
“We’ll be staying a few days,” I admitted. “Pay the reward to the captain and mate – they did the hard parts. And if you could refer me to a good inn for me and my wife . . .”
“The Yellowfish is the only inn,” he said, scratching his beard. “Good fare, not fancy. Not too crowded now, either – not many fare this far upriver in the winter.”
“And could I hire a coach and driver there?”
“Livery stable across the High Street,” he grunted. “Sign of the five shoes. Where might you folks be headed? Dillinsby?”
I had no idea where Dillinsby was. “No, we’re going to see the ruins in Sartha forest, find that hot spring.”
He looked at me oddly. “Sartha forest? Aye, that’s in Sarthameton, to the northeast, but . . .” the dockmaster said, looking troubled. “Folk don’t oft go there,” he said, almost in a whisper. “The place is filled with strange folk, it is said, and some who go never return. That forest . . . it’s dangerous,” he warned.
I toed one of the rank-smelling river pirates at my feet. “Unlike the serene and peaceful life on the river,” I pointed out, ironically. “Don’t worry, my wife is armed.”
* * *
The Yellowfish proved to be an old, worn building at least a hundred years old, catering to the rivermen and the merchants who made the rounds during the summers and autumns. This was sheep country, thanks to the rougher terrain, and the wool merchants were notoriously picky about their lodgings, so the inn was cozy and comfortable, at least. In winter, the old couple who ran the place made do with locals and the odd stray. But when I escorted Alya into the inn, the small common room on the ground floor was virtually deserted.
I was able to secure the highly-misnamed Duke’s Room for six copper pennies. While any self-respecting Duke would have refused to lodge there, it was a spacious chamber with a garderrobe, not merely a chamberpot, and a big brass bathtub at one end, ancient but serviceable with two inches of soapsand in the bottom.
There was a large fireplace – unusual on a second floor, but welcome – that had a fire already laid on it. The bed was large, four-posted and hung with faded green cotton hangings. The tick was stuffed with goose down and reasonably free of vermin – I checked by magic. There was a basin and ewer and even a towel of sorts next to the candlestick on the table. A rocking chair sat near to the fire.
It wasn’t luxury, perhaps, but it was comfort.
The chambermaid (their daughter or granddaughter, I guessed) showed us the room and made a strong pitch for us to take it. I accepted at once – the bed alone would have been worth the price – and then asked her to fill the tub with water.
“Hot or cold, my lord?” she asked, eyes sparkling. “Cold I can do at once, hot will take an hour. A penny for cold, three pence for hot! Candles are two copper pennies, too,” she added. You could buy six from a chandler at that price, but I suppose innkeepers need to make a profit, too.
“Cold,” I ordered. “And don’t worry about lighting the fire. I’ll handle that.” I also ordered her to arrange a special dinner prepared for us, paying up front in silver to ensure a proper meal. The maid was back in moments with two big pails full of river water, and three more trips filled the cauldron-like tub more than half way. I tipped her a penny and bolted the door behind her.
“A cold room and a cold bath?” Alya asked wryly from the bedding – which she swore was the most comfortable she’d been in months. “Have I made you angry, my husband?”
“Why wait on hot water . . .” I said, summoning power and casting a simple thermomantic spell. “. . . when you can have it now?” The tub began steaming almost immediately. I turned and waggled my fingers at the wood in the fireplace, and it obligingly came to light. As an afterthought, I cast a small magelight and had it float over the center of the room. I’d tip until I was a pauper, but I’d be damned if I wasted money on candles and a cranky old cauldron downstairs when I could do it better and quicker with magic.
“A tub, a featherbed, a fire . . . I feel like a duchess!” she giggled. I swelled with satisfaction. “I’m enjoying our barge,” she said, “but after those pirates I feel like I need a bath more than anything! Help me undress?”
While Alya was luxuriating in the tub, I spent some time writing down everything I could recall or speculate about concerning the secrets of the Alka Alon Ithalia had given me. The Alka Alon don’t use writing, or rarely, just to humor us, but they have better memories than humans do. I wrote out as complete an account of our adventure, thus far, and was just finishing up when Alya asked to be helped out of the tub and wrapped in a thick cotton towel.
Our meal appeared shortly thereafter, the maid looking wide-eyed at the magelight and with wonder at the steamy tub. She set up the small table with our repast, a bowl of beans fried in garlic and onions, a thick slab of ham seared, roasted, and then covered in brandied cherries; freshly-baked biscuits, honey and an onion-ale soup served over toasted bread. With a bottle of wine and another of mead from the barge, it was a delicious meal.
“So is it going to be like this every day?” she asked, playfully, as she finished her soup. “Featherbeds and feasts?”
“As long as the money holds out,” I shrugged. “Enjoy it while it lasts. When our honeymoon is over, we have to learn how to be a lord and a lady of a domain. Don’t all nobles sleep on featherbeds and feast every night?”
“I always thought so,” she agreed, giggling. “I am looking forward to our new home, Min, wherever it is. You said it wasn’t very big . . .”
“Less than twenty square miles, according to the map,” I said. “But that should be almost enough for . . . whatever we end up calling him to run around on.”
“And there’s a castle?”
“Supposedly a grand old castle,” I agreed, as I finished off a biscuit. “It dates from the early Lensely settlement of the Bontal valley. I don’t know about how many fighting men it has now, but in its heyday it could support dozens. Several villages. But enough room for the Bovali refugees, and then some, I’m figuring. And enough mountains around so that you won’t be too homesick, I hope.” Since her home was now the staging area for the vast goblin army that menaced all of humanity, I couldn’t exactly promise her a trip back.
“You . . . you didn’t pick it because of . . . because of me, did you?” she asked, startled.
“I picked it most o
f all because of you,” I answered. “You and our son. The Alka Alon suggested choosing a place in that region, among others, and it had to be far enough away from the war to be safe, but close enough so that I could return to the front at need . . . it had to be viable, but not too rich. I don’t exactly plan on building an empire, but I don’t want to spend all of our time defending our property from those who might covet it. But yes, I chose a mountainous domain because I wanted you to feel at home. And because I like mountains,” I added, truthfully.
Her eyes were weepy. I tried to ignore it.
“And . . . and you’ve invited everyone I know to live there,” she continued, a few more tears appearing.
“Well, we’ll likely need the help,” I pointed out, eating another biscuit. “Unless you were planning on cleaning the castle all by yourself.”
She looked at me thoughtfully from under the towel. She was biting her lip. “If I wasn’t the size and shape of a pumpkin right now,” she said, softly, “I would dance for you like a maiden in a meadow, and pleasure you slavishly all night long, Minalan.”
The Spellmonger's Honeymoon: A Spellmonger Novella (The Spellmonger Series) Page 8
